


Short Form

by leiascully



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Drabbles, F/M, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-08
Updated: 2019-06-08
Packaged: 2020-04-12 14:26:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19133890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leiascully/pseuds/leiascully





	1. Boxed-In Car

They have played I Spy. They have sampled everything the radio has to offer, including static. Mulder has turned the car off and on again. They tried cracking the windows, but the reek of exhaust was unbearable. The air conditioning smells stale, like the inside of Mulder’s fridge.

“Thumb war,” he suggests, and she surprises him by holding out her hand. They clasp fingers and count off. Her thumb is nimble and surprisingly strong, ducking and dodging his. He has to make the most of his advantage: bigger hands, longer fingers. 

She giggles and pins his thumb and he surrenders.


	2. Broken Stapler

The stapler was broken. Weirdly, no amount of slamming it on the edge of his desk had solved the problem. Mulder contemplating trying again, but there was the whole definition of insanity, blah blah. He stared at the thing, lowering his chin to the desk. Maybe if he got on its level, he would understand its malfunction.

Scully opened the door and slipped in. She studied him for a moment. "Alas, poor Yorick,“ she said. "I knew him, Horatio.”

“Ha,” he said. "The comic relief has arrived.“

"Somebody’s got to be.” She fiddled with the stapler. It sprang open immediately.


	3. A Bag Of Frozen Green Beans

“So what’s the verdict, Doc?” he asks, wincing. He’s facedown in her couch, shirt off, as she prods at his shoulder.

“A bad strain,” she says. "Lie still.“

He imagines a dotted line marking her path Family Circus-style as she walks. The seal of the fridge sucks open and then closes again. When she drops something cold on his shoulder, he hisses in surprise. He can feel a thin layer of plastic and something poky inside.

"What is that?” He turns his head, twinging.

“Frozen green beans,” she says. "Med school wisdom in action. I didn’t have any frozen peas.“


	4. Glass

It’s hotter than hell in rural Nebraska and the only thing to eat is barbecue. Scully orders an iced tea, and when the waitress retreats, presses it to her cheeks. The condensation rolls down the sides of her neck and into the open vee of her shirt. She sighs with relief even as the trickle soaks her cleavage. She’s sitting on sticky vinyl rendering her white button-down transparent in blotches, but at least she’s a little cooler.

When she opens her eyes, Mulder is gaping at her. 

“What?” she snaps.

“Nothing.” He shifts on his bench. "Iced tea looks good.“


	5. Neck

He bows his head before her, a supplicant, and she sees the nape of his neck, the dusky gold of his skin muted against the grey fabric of his t-shirt. The tendons at the sides stand out and she bares her teeth in predatory impulse. He doesn’t flinch as she nips hard at him. She drags her mouth up and down his throat, pushing his chin back. With lips and the flat of her teeth and the hot pressure of her mouth, she marks him. Property of Dana Scully. Return to owner.

“Never again,” she growls.

“I swear,” he gasps.


	6. Tears

“What is this?” She turns the tiny glass bottle over in her hands.

“A lachrymatory,” he says proudly.

“Mulder, do you really want me collecting my tears?” she asks, a wry tilt to her eyebrows.

“You could collect someone else’s,” he offers lightly. 

“Lacrimal chemistry is incredibly complex,” she muses. "Tears of joy contain different compounds than tears produced by sorrow or laughter.“

"Save those,” he suggests. 

“I won’t have enough to fill it.” Under the irony in her voice, there’s a rough current of pain.

“We can try to change that,” he says quietly, curling his fingers through hers.


	7. Thunder

Thunder grinds at the cabin, shaking the windows and rattling the bedframe. Scully huddles closer to Mulder. 

“I’m not afraid,” she insists. "I just can’t hear you.“

"It’s a primal reaction,” he assures her, raising his voice to be heard over the deafening rattle of the rain. "As many higher functions as we’ve developed, the lizard brain wins out.“

"So in a way the lizard people are already among us,” she says. Lightning bleaches the room.

“Exactly,” Mulder says. "Instinct reigns.“

She pulls him close, kisses him. The thunder bludgeons the world, the concussion shivering them until their bodies meld.


	8. Limeade

They stop at an ice cream and hamburger place (“no fried chicken,” Scully insists, still suspicious) in a blip on the map on their way to the airport in Little Rock. The humid air lies over the little town like a wool blanket and Mulder feels stale and sweaty in his suit. 

"What to drink?“ asks the bored cashier. 

Mulder scans the menu. "Limeade,” he decides.

They eat in the freezing dining room alone. The fries are soft and too salty, but the limeade is perfect: fizzy, refreshing, tart. Scully sighs, contented; Mulder imagines he sees frost on her breath.


End file.
